


WinterHawk Ficlets

by orbingarrow



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Circus Sex is Dangerous, Domestic Avengers, Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff, Get together fic, M/M, Touch-Starved, Worst Sex Ever, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-06-10 06:49:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6944170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orbingarrow/pseuds/orbingarrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A place for me to keep my WinterHawk Ficlets and short fics featuring Clint and Bucky since Tumblr tags are sketchy at best.  </p><p>1. Worst Sex Ever - The Avengers discuss the worst (consensual) sex they've ever had.  Clint's circus sex wins hands down.<br/>2. Shamrock This - Bucky's out on the town for the first time since he lost his arm.  He meets a guy with a baby.  It works out surprisingly well for both of them.<br/>3. Mosquito - Clint's crap at packing his own go-bag for missions.  Bucky decides to give it a try.<br/>4. Shamrock This (Part 2) - Gracie gets sick, and the guys get serious.  Fluff and a tiny bit of angst!<br/>5. Super Secret Touch-Starved Brainwashed Assassins Club - Bucky and Clint are both starved for touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Worst Sex Ever

**Author's Note:**

> All of these ficlets can also be found on my [Tumblr](http://orbingarrow.tumblr.com)! I always refollow and I offer to do prompts a few times a month, so if you have an interest in WinterHawk you should go to there, follow me, and make a request! You might see it posted here! <3

"coolbeansbucky asked: Prompt: Clint/Bucky - worst sex ever"

*

As far as party games go, Worst Blank Ever isn’t so bad. It can get a little awkward when you’re dealing with the Dysfunction Junction that is the Reassembled Avengers, but they still manage to dig up the cards every now and then and bond over the ridiculous questions.

The only (unspoken) rule they’ve made for themselves is that the answers can never go to the dark places. For example: Worst Meal Ever.

For Tony, hands down that’s in the cave. But he chooses to talk about the time the fish on his plate winked at him.

For Clint, he ate stale food out of circus trash cans on a regular basis, but when it’s his turn to answer, he goes with “Those bus station anchovies I got in Cleveland. You remember those Nat?”

For Bucky, it could be during the war or it could be ‘nothing, Jesus, they shoved a tube down my throat and filled me up with some Hydra gunk I’d have been happy for real food of any kind’ but instead he says, “Steve and I found a jar of jam once with a dead mouse sittin' on top of it but we just spooned out the parts that had touched the thing and spread it on some crackers. We both got so sick after. You remember that Stevie?”

Steve does, and it’s obvious he does, because his smile is so damn happy you’d think Bucky was telling a story about eating donuts made by the Lord up in Heaven, who had handed them the heaven-donuts on a solid gold plate. Not a tale of two poor Brooklyn kids eating mouse jelly.

Anyway, it’s not that they don’t want to be honest with each other. It’s not even that they don’t want to be honest with themselves. The game is supposed to be fun and fun is something they sorely need. They play, they laugh, and they leave feeling like a team.

It’s a Saturday night, they’re a few bottles of beer and Asgardian Cider in, when Tony digs out The Worst Deck. The first few rounds are pretty tame. And then they get to:

**||Worst Sex Ever||**

Tony’s up first. "There was one time where some guy wanted to pee on me. Not my kink. I said no and he peed on me anyway as soon as my back was turned. Totally ruined my sheets."

The look on Thor’s face is priceless. It’s his 'What even _is_ Earth' face.

“I've never had bad sex,” Bruce says. "I never had sex at all until Betty, that was always good, then I never had sex again."

"God, we need to get you laid,” Tony says. "I’ve got a new mission in life. I’ve found my purpose. Screw Avenging. I'm getting Bruce screwed."

"Please don’t,” Bruce groans. "How about you tackle world hunger first? Cure famine, and then my secondary virginity is all yours.“

"Oh, I’m going to take you up on that,” Tony warns with a grin.

Bruce looks a little worried. Natasha laughs into her bottle.

“I’ve got you all beat,” Clint says. "Worst sex ever: So I’m 18 and there’s this hot townie in Omaha. He’s maybe a year or two older than me. I sneak us into one of the train cars where they keep the animals in the clown show because at worst we’re gonna have to deal with a dog or two but that’s a small price to pay for privacy when you’re surrounded by a few hundred of your closest friends.“

The assembled Avengers are absolutely silent, because while Clint is one of the chattiest of all of them, he never brings up the circus stories. Ever.

"We’re getting to the good stuff and a dog starts licking my foot, right in the arch. Really going at it. I gave it a bit of a kick, and it stopped. Now I forgot to mention, we’re doing this by the light from the tiny windows up at the top of the train car, by the ceiling. Not much light, but you don’t really need much light for a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am.”

Clint makes an in-and-out gesture that gets a groan from Natasha.

“Anyway, we lube up with who knows what, I finally stick it in, and it’s all good. I’m getting to my stride and then the stupid dog is back. It’s licking up my ankle now. So I give it a harder kick. We start getting noisy. The guy’s a screamer. The train car's a'rocking. And then–”

Clint makes a frantic, chomping motion with his hand, reminiscent of a shark attack.

“SNAP. The dog clamps down on my foot. Except it’s not a dog. It’s a bear. Bessie the Bike Riding Bear. I was so busy being sneaky I didn’t realize I’d picked the lock on the wrong train car.”

“Holy shit,” Bruce mumbles.

“The asshole grabs his clothes and runs out, leaves me there to die, but Bessie didn’t eat me. Guess I'd earned a pardon since I snuck her snacks sometimes between shows. She just let me go like it was nothing and huffed back into the dark. My foot was bleeding something fierce, and I dragged myself out of there and had to stand around long enough to lock the stupid door cause I couldn’t afford to get fired over it. Went back to the tent I was sharing with a couple of guys, stitched myself up, and there you have it. Worst sex ever.”

“Katniss wins,” Tony announces. "I’m calling it.“

The group claps, and Clint stands so he can bow and enjoy the applause. That ends the game for the night. They eat some more and chat in smaller groups and it’s late when people start heading for their rooms. Clint’s putting some of the leftover food in the fridge when Bucky steps up behind him.

Bucky never really talks to Clint outside of group talk, so this is a new development. Not one that Clint minds.

"Was that story about the bear true?” Bucky asks. 

He's a little hesitant with his words, like he's worried about spooking Clint. It's all kinds of cute.

“Every word,” Clint says.

“Can I see?”

Clint nods toward the nearest chairs and walks over, takes off his sock, and turns his foot a little. The scars are still there. He wasn’t bullshitting them. 

Bucky’s stare is so intense it's a little unnerving. "Okay.“

"It doesn't hurt," Clint says. "Doesn't even register in my top ten injuries, to tell you the truth. Just makes for a good story."

“I’m glad the bear didn’t eat you. The whole story was true?”

Clint tilts his head a little since he's already told Bucky once that it was. "Yeah. Beginning to end.“

Bucky looks like he wants to say more but doesn’t. He just gives Clint a small, apologetic smile and then walks away.

"What did Barnes want?” Natasha asks, walking over as soon as Bucky is out of the room.

“To know if my story was true. Guess the bear was a stretch.”

Natasha shakes her head and reaches up to pat Clint’s cheek with her hand. “How a guy as smart as you can be so oblivious… think about your story, Clint. Look at it from a distance.”

Clint thinks about it. It’s an unusual tale, yeah, but not like… impossible. 

“I got nothing here, Nat.”

“Your story was about you and a _guy_ ,” she said. "That hasn’t come up before. Not so directly."

For a second Clint’s quiet. "Shit. Right. Wait–” He tilts his head and plays back the conversation between himself and Bucky. "Wait. You think he’s interested?“

"He was listening pretty intently,” Natasha says. "Why don’t you go after him. Find out?“

"What if I make an ass out of myself?” Clint asked. "He might just really like bears."

“You do that on a regular basis. Nothing new there at all.”

Clint gives Natasha a hip check as he walks past her, and then ducks the rest of the group, to get to Bucky before he locks himself in his room for the night. Bucky has his hand on his door when Clint arrives.

“Did you ask if that was true because you were surprised about the bear or the boy?” Clint asks.

Bucky lets out a small, huffed laugh. "Caught on, did you?“

"Took me a minute,” Clint says. He leans against the door-frame and looks Bucky in the eyes. "I’ve got more stories. Lots of bad sex to talk about, if you want to sit up and talk."

"Are they all that interesting?”

“Maybe not all of them," Clint admits. "But there was this one time in Budapest…”

Bucky steps aside to allow Clint to enter his room. "How every good story starts."


	2. Shamrock This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint's got a baby. In a bar. And it's a non-powered AU.

Non-Powered AU (WinterHawk with background Stony)

*

“Come on, Buck,” Steve prods with a smirk. "You lost the bet, you said you’d wear the shirt out for a good time. That was the deal. Take off your jacket and show it off.“

“And stop looking down at your phone like you’re bored,” Sam adds. "People who are having a good time don’t do that.“

Bucky glares at them as he tugs off his jacket. Sam and Steve know better than to give him any help, but it’s a fucking process and people are looking. Bucky narrows his eyes at the giggling bachelorette party in the next booth over.

“That’s the murder look. You just made your face worse. What’s up with that?” Sam asks in exasperation.

“If you want to go, we can go,” Steve relents. "If this is too much.“

Bucky lets out a huff of annoyance cause the only thing worse than coming out to a crowded bar on St. Patrick’s Day Night is leaving one early because Steve’s taking pity on him.

"Fuck you,” Buck says, wiggling a little more fiercely until he’s finally got his jacket off. "I lost the bet; I’m doing this.“

At least the shirt fits okay. It’s an ungodly color of green, it says SHAMROCK THIS with an arrow pointing down at his junk, and the sleeve’s pinned up because he’s missing an arm, but at least he isn’t lookin’ sloppy. He’s got a little pride left.

Sam offers to brave the bar and buy the first round, and once he’s gone Steve’s chewing on his lip and glancing around, and Bucky knows that look.

"You got someone coming or are you scoping the exits in case I freak out?”

“You’re not going to freak out,” Steve says. "There’s just a guy I met. I told him we’d be here tonight and I thought maybe he’d come. No big deal if he doesn’t.”

Nothing about Steve’s posture or the puppy dog eyes he makes every time the door opens says this isn’t a big deal.

“Did you get his number?” Bucky asks.

He’s not happy about being out but he’s not going to ruin this for Steve if he’s looking to get his leg over someone. He’s been on Bucky-Babysitting-Duty for a month straight. He needs to get out.

“Shit that’s him!” Steve says, and then promptly dives under the table like a chump.

Bucky turns to see who he’s talking about and makes eye contact with a hot guy wearing a baby. In a bar.

“He’s got a kid?” Bucky asks, because that seems relevant. "In a bar? Man, you know how to pick 'em.“

"What?” Steve asks.

That’s enough to get him to peek back up over the table again at least. "No– the guy next to him. With the dark hair and the goatee.“

"You mean the old one,” Bucky says.

His tone doesn’t make that sound much more positive than having a baby.

“He’s not old,” Steve hisses, before waving at Goatee Guy shyly. "Be nice, asshole,“ he adds to Bucky in another whisper.

Bucky much prefers this mean version of Steve to the one who’s been hen-pecking him to death since he got out of the hospital.

Goatee Guy spots them and walks over to the table. Baby Wearin’ Guy sticks close.

"You came!” Steve says brightly. "This is my friend Bucky,“ he adds quickly. Probably so the guy knows right away it’s not a date. "Bucky this is Tony. He’s. Here now.”

God, Bucky feels sorry for Steve. Steve can’t hide his emotions for shit, and it’s just painfully obvious how happy he is to see Tony and how desperately sad he’s going to be in the morning when he’s shown the door. Tony’s smile is charming and full of trouble. It says one-night-standsville all the way.

“I told you I would,” Tony says. "This is Clint. He’s– I don’t really drink anymore so I usually drag a friend along if I’m going to a bar. Sobriety buddy, or whatever. It isn’t a big deal.“

"My babysitter cancelled at the last minute,” Clint says. "I know no one asked, but I feel like I should get that out right now before any of you decide to call Child Protective Services. And I’m not drinking. And we’re not staying long.“

Bucky barely hears him cause he’s looking at the kid. It can’t be more than three or four months old and it’s just sleeping like it doesn’t have a care in the world. It has fluffy brown hair sticking out like dandelion fuzz all over it’s head and Bucky just kind of wants to reach out and pet the baby with one finger to see if it’s as soft as it looks. Then realizes just how creepy that would be and shove his hand in his pocket. Good thing about only having one hand– only half the temptation to touch things he oughtn’t.

"Shit, I didn’t know you didn’t drink,” Steve is stammering when Bucky rejoins the conversation. "I’d have never invi–“

"It’s fine,” Tony says. "I didn’t get your number and I wasn’t sure how else to–“

"IIIIIIIIIIIIIIT’S BEEEEEEEER TIME!” Sam announces loudly from behind them. "Let’s get this party started!“

Steve’s cheeks go slightly pink. Clint laughs awkwardly. Tony puts a hand to his forehead in what might be a genuine facepalm and Bucky just shakes his head no.

"We’ve got company, Wilson. Go deliver that green shit to those girls right there. If they start flirting, sit your ass down. We’re goin’ for a walk,” Bucky says, taking charge.

Bucky’s not trying to ditch Sam, but Sam’s not really there for them anyway. He’s waiting on Riley so he’ll be fine. Steve on the other hand, is looking about as green as the drinks.

“That good with everyone?” Bucky asks.

The look of appreciation Steve gives Bucky is part of the reason Bucky has put up with his shit for the last 27 years. They get each other. They know how this works.

Clint and Tony seem relieved to have an out, and Tony leads the way through the crowd after Bucky and Steve put on their jackets. They have to walk almost half a block to find a decent break in the crowd.

“There’s a Donut Shop another block over,” Clint says. “The coffee’s shitty but it’s strong and the donuts are good. Anyone mind if we head over there? It’s kind of noisy out here.”

The baby’s still sleeping like a tiny, pink charmer. The look Tony gives Clint is just about a perfect clone for Steve’s ‘thank you I was lost and you fixed this you’re the best’ face.

When they get to the Donut Shop, Clint points at a table. “You two sit,” he says to Tony and Steve. “This guy can help me with the drinks.”

“You’d have been shit as a Dodgeball Captain, if you’re picking the guy with one arm to help you carry hot coffee,” Bucky says, as they walk up to the counter.

“Figured I’d put them out of their misery. Give them a few minutes alone. Tony hasn’t shut up about your friend all day.”

“He must have it bad if you’re willing to strap on your kid and wear it down to the bars,” Bucky agrees.

Clint winces. “Not going to win parent of the year, huh?” There’s some sadness in his voice, and now Bucky feels like a giant jackass.

“I can’t keep a plant alive. Baby looks healthy enough to me.”

“I’m kind of new at this. My brother dropped her off last week, said he’d be back in an hour and is like… 167ish hours late.”

“Shit,” Bucky says. “In that case, the baby is looking realllly healthy. If it was me, I’d have it all wrapped in bubble wrap and tape or something. Or no… I’d have probably dropped it off on a doorstep. I’d be too afraid I’d break it.”

Clint laughs. He looks a little less weary now that Bucky’s cracking jokes.

“I grew up in the system. I’m not letting that happen to her. Tony’s got lawyers and they’re helping me sort it out. I can’t remember the last time I slept. Sorry if that's more than you wanted to know.”

“Don’t apologize,” Bucky says. “I don’t mind.”

The person wiping down the counter finally takes notice of them and takes their order. Clint orders 4 black coffees and 4 glazed donuts. The total comes out to 4 dollars. This is Bucky’s kind of donut dive.

They lean against the counter while they wait. Bucky can’t help but stare at the baby. Here under the bright lights overhead, her skin looks nearly translucent. He is really fucking glad no one in their right mind would ever trust him with their baby. Still. That hair.

It’s not creepy, it really isn’t. Ever since he lost his arm he’s been drawn to touching soft things with the hand he’s got left. It calms him down. Makes things feel a little bit more in order. And he's never been this close to something that looked so soft.

“You want to hold her?” Clint asks, cause he must notice the way Bucky's staring.

“Fuck no,” Bucky says, looking at Clint like he’s out of his mind. “Why do you keep forgetting I’ve got one arm?”

“How many arms do you think it takes to hold a baby?” Clint asks. “She’s like eight pounds.”

“Eight very droppable pounds,” Bucky says. “And I don’t want you to wake her up. She looks sweet like that.”

“She is sweet,” Clint agrees. He dips his face so he can kiss the top of her head.

“What’s her name?” Bucky asks.

“Gracie,” Clint replies. “Gracie Barton.”

“Well, Gracie Barton,” Bucky says. “You’re a real lucky girl to have someone looking out for you.”

“Thanks,” Clint says quietly.

“Wasn’t talking to you,” Bucky says smugly. Though he softens it with a smile.

Between the two of them they wrangle the donuts and the coffee over to the table where Tony and Steve are makin’ lovey faces at each other and playing footsie.

“So I guess I’m walking home alone then?” Bucky guesses.

Steve kicks him.

“I wouldn’t mind showing you my place,” Tony tells Steve. “If you’re interested.”

Steve nods, and the smile on his face says Bucky is forgiven for being such a shit.

“Do you really want to sit here and drink this coffee first?” Steve asks, apparently feeling a little emboldened by Tony’s offer.

“Not in the slightest. I’ve got a long list of things I’d like to get done tonight, and there’s not a single one of them I feel comfortable doing in front of a baby.”

Steve laughs.

“Go on then,” Clint says, waving them off. “Have your fun. Me and Bucky are just gonna eat your donuts and drink your coffee and then we’ll find our own ways home.”

Steve looks at Bucky imploringly. “You’re sure you’re good with this?”

“Goooooo,” Bucky scolds. “Get your ass out of here.”

Steve and Tony don’t have to be told twice. They wrap arms around each other and walk out the door with bedroom eyes that say it’ll be a miracle if they make it halfway down the block before they’re boning.

“Young love,” Clint says, shaking his head. “I remember those days. Back before I was a dad.”

Bucky laughs. “So like a week ago?”

Clint shrugs. “I was seeing someone but it wasn’t about love. And he’s got no interest in Gracie here. He said flat out it was him or her, and I told him not to let the door hit him on the ass on his way out.”

Mostly all Bucky caught from that was _him_. Clint was into guys, too. And well– Bucky had made that stupid bet and he’d promised Sam and Steve he was going to try and have a good time.

“I know you aren’t in a spot where I can invite you up to my place for after coffee drinks or anything, but would you like to get dinner sometime? Gracie can come, too, if you can’t get a sitter. I don’t mind.”

Clint looks surprised. “You’re asking me on a date?”

“Not if it’s a problem,” Bucky backs off.

“Shit– no– I mean no it’s not a problem. I just– I literally spent her whole afternoon nap on the phone with my best friend telling her how I was never going to get laid again. Or at least not for 18 years. A date would be awesome. And Tony can babysit. He fucking owes me.”

Bucky laughs, feeling relieved. “Yeah, he does. You wore a baby into a bar for that man.”

“Guess I can’t be too pissed though,” Clint concedes. “I mean…” He nods toward Bucky’s shirt. “It might depend on if I can get a rain check on Shamrock This or if that’s just a one night offer?”

Bucky snickers into his coffee. “I’m sure we can work something out, pal.”

"Lucky me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of these ficlets can also be found on my [Tumblr](http://orbingarrow.tumblr.com)! I always refollow and I offer to do prompts a few times a month, so if you have an interest in WinterHawk you should go to there, follow me, and make a request! You might see it posted here! <3


	3. Mosquito

"Anonymous asked: Winterhawk: mosquito"

*

Clint’s shit at packing. One might think all the go-bags he’s put together in his day would have made him better at it, but one would be wrong. So wrong. He’s awful. He puts it off to the very last minute, tosses everything he wants to take in a pile, then tosses himself dramatically onto that pile. Wallows. Turns on the television. Wallows some more.

Very little gets done until 5 minutes before he needs to be out the door.

After watching Clint do this three missions in a row, Bucky decides to do the packing for him. He's an awesome boyfriend like that. Which means Clint has no idea what’s in his duffel bag until he lands, gets to the hotel where he’s checked in under a fake name and begins to unpack.

On top he finds snacks. Under that, the whole bag is stuffed with neatly packed clothes, toiletries and field gear. He’s only halfway through unpacking when he pulls out his phone to FaceTime (StarkTime technically but Clint isn’t a douchebag so he won’t call it that) his boyfriend.

Clint’s smiling like he's won the lottery by the time the call rings through and Bucky appears on his screen.

“Bucky. Love of my life. Moon and my stars. What the hell is this?”

He lifts the carefully rolled ball of material high enough for Bucky to see it on his screen.

“It’s a mosquito net.” Bucky’s tone gives away what a dumb question he thinks he’s being asked, even if his eyes are smiling right back at Clint. He’s glad to see him. Clint can tell.

“Right. Why is there a mosquito net in my bag? Where did you even _get_ a mosquito net?”

“Amazon,” Bucky says.

“South American Amazon or the Internet Amazon?” Clint asks. With Bucky you never know.

“The internet, you yahoo. Bruce says you aren’t up on your vaccinations and some of what mosquitoes carry can’t even be vaccinated for. I found that out on the internet, too. You should really try it sometime. It's helpful.”

“You haven’t had all your shots either,” Clint points out. "And I’ve done okay."

“Yeah, well, I’m a science experiment. You’re made of sugar. M'not risking it.”

“This is all because you think I’m sweet?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “This is because I don’t want you coming back with a preventable disease. I saw enough of that in the 40s. Use the damn net.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Clint responds with a smile. "Thanks, by the way. For packing my bag, I mean. This might be the first time I’ve ever gotten to a place with both deodorant and toothpaste. I could always remember one, but never the other.“

"You’re just saying that to make me feel useful.”

“Nope,” Clint says. "I’m saying it because I’ve lived 30 some years on this planet without anyone ever thinking maybe I could use some help getting my shit together. Until you.“ Clint looks down. "I’m feeling grateful. That’s all. For the mosquito net and everything.”

“Well now you’ve gone and gotten all your feels on me,” Bucky says, scrunching up his nose. Clint can see how pleased he is when he looks back up at the screen.

“How does this thing work, anyway?” Clint asks, unraveling the net, which ends up being a whole lot bigger and unwieldier when it’s unraveled.

“No clue,” Bucky says. "But it seemed slightly more reasonable than me following you to another country and stayin’ up all night to murder any bugs that came near you.“

"I kind of wish you had,” Clint admits. "I miss you.“

"I can borrow a jet,” Bucky offers. "Stark won’t mind.“

Clint considers it. "If you’re here, we won’t be able to have all the phone sex I have planned.”

“If I’m there we can have all the real sex I have planned,” Bucky points out with a smirk.

Clint only needs to think about it for a second.

“Steal the jet.”

"See you soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of these ficlets can also be found on my [Tumblr!](http://orbingarrow.tumblr.com) I always refollow and I offer to do prompts a few times a month, so if you have an interest in WinterHawk you should go to there, follow me, and make a request! You might see it posted here! <3


	4. Shamrock This (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The baby gets sick. The guys gets serious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part of this universe is in chapter 2, which you can find: [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6944170/chapters/15837094)

Clint and Bucky go on their first date two nights later. Clint’s already dropped Gracie off with Tony when they meet, which is probably for the best, but also leaves Bucky feeling slightly disappointed. He’d kind of liked to have seen her for a minute or two. Just to say hi. Stare at her baby-chicken-soft hair. Maybe give her a wave.

They go out for pizza. The dive Clint chooses is not far from Bucky’s apartment and attached to a bar. They don't get smashed since Clint's got to pick up Gracie later but they do get tipsy enough to take the edge off their first date nerves. By the time the evening is over, Bucky's got a couple of impressive hickeys, a first hand knowledge of PizzaRio’s bathroom and an appreciation for Clint's many hidden talents.

Their second date is a lot the same, and so is their third and fourth. They keep to public places. Tony’s always looking after Gracie, and according to Clint, it’s not a problem at all. Apparently Tony’s a big fan of babysitting and offers as often as he’s got a night off. Things are going great until the fifth date when right from the start Clint seems distracted. A little less like he wants to be there. And it only gets worse as the night goes on.

What Bucky wants to ask is 'Are you losing interest already? Is it the arm? The scars? Every other fucked up thing about me?"

He doesn't though. Just uses the normal words a normal person would say. Normally. 

"Everything okay?" Bucky asks. 

God he hates how sad his voice sounds. He used to be good at hiding his disappointment. Not sure what it is about Clint that makes him wreck Bucky’s chill, but the thought of losing Clint after so short a time feels like a major loss and Bucky’ll be damned if he can hide it.

"Shit," Clint sighs. "Sorry. It's not you. It’s me."

Dating’s most famous last words.

“Sure,” Bucky says. “Look, if you’re not into this. Don’t feel obligated by the arm, okay? It’d be a disservice to us bo--”

“Nooooo,” Clint groans emphatically. “No. That’s not it. That’s not even a little bit it. Gracie was just kind of... off... when I left her. And I’m feeling guilty. M’sure Tony’d call if anything was wrong, but her cheeks were a little extra pink and she was kind of hard to wake up from her nap. I don’t know jack shit about kids but I think-- I think I just got my priorities wrong tonight and I’m feeling guilty. You’d have understood if I had to cancel. I don’t know why I didn’t. I just want you to like me. It was stupid.”

“Let’s go get her,” Bucky says. “Right now.”

“Really?” Clint asks.

“Shit, yes,” Bucky says. “Cause now I’m gonna worry. We can pick her up. I’ll walk the two of you home. We’ll reschedule for a different night. It’s fine. Really. Like you said, Gracie’s got to be your priority. And it’s not like you hid her from me when we first met. You were kinda wearing her.”

“Guess that did make it sort of obvious, huh? You could stick around,” Clint says. “After you walk us home. You wouldn’t have to leave us at the door unless you wanted to. If she’s sick-- it might be nice to have someone else around. I can hold her while you google symptoms.”

“Okay. Yeah. Let’s do that,” Bucky agrees.

Not even out of hopes of anything romantic. He likes Clint. Likes him as a person. And he gets why being responsible for something so tiny and breakable and squishy’s got to be scary as hell.

Bucky doesn’t even own a plant.

Their waitress is extremely understanding when they explain that they need to get Clint’s kid. She boxes everything up, they pay, and they take off walking toward Tony’s place.

They’re only a few blocks away when Tony calls. Bucky only hears Clint’s end but it’s clear his intuition was spot on.

“We’re close,” Clint says into the phone. “I was worried at dinner.... Okay. No, that’s good. Tell Bruce thanks. We’ll be there in two.”

Clint hangs up.

“She’s definitely got a fever. Tony called his neighbor Bruce, cause he’s a doctor. So he’s gonna pop over and look at her. If this is too much-- I mean, I get it. You didn’t sign up for this. I wouldn’t hold it against you if you want to bail on our date now. We can talk later.”

“Then who’s gonna google her symptoms?” Bucky asks. “Seriously, Clint. I’m not trying to get in your pants tonight or anything. As a friend, I want to help however you need. Even if it’s to run to the store at 3 AM or to... I dunno. Boil hot water. Grab clean towels. Whatever people do when kids are sick.”

Clint’s grateful smile could light up the street. “Thank you. That’s-- I don’t even know. Really nice.”

Bucky nods. “It’s the least I can do.”

Tony looks relieved when he opens his door, but he also looks like he’s got everything under control. Gracie’s in a short-sleeve onesie looking dress that Bucky figures must be keeping her cool, and Tony’s cradling her like this isn’t his first rodeo.

Clint takes him from her and walks over to the couch so he can sit and get a better look at her, and Bucky lingers back with Tony, giving Clint space.

“You got kids?” Bucky asks.

Tony laughs. “No. None of my own. But I’ve got a couple of god kids running around. I keep poking at Clint. Trying to make it official. All the rest of my god kids are boys.”

“How do you know how to hold her like that?” Bucky asks quietly.

Bucky’s scared as shit of hurting Gracie, or making her uncomfortable or messing up and cutting off her circulation cause she’s all floppy and Bucky’s got no clue where all the wiggly pieces of her are supposed to go. Her arms, in particular. They’re so tiny and wobbly and out of control. 

“Practice,” Tony says. “If you’re sticking around you’ll get the hang of it soon enough.”

There’s a knock at the door. The man (who must be Bruce) walks in looks nothing at all like the doctor’s Bucky’s been seeing lately. Bruce has bed-head curls, is wearing pajamas, and smiles shyly when he realizes Tony isn’t alone.

“Sorry-- Tony didn’t mention he had guests. Other than Gracie,” Bruce apologizes. “I’d have not...” He kind of gestures to his pajamas awkwardly before giving Tony a pointed look.

Tony puts his hands in the air in a show of innocence. “I didn’t realize they were only a block away. Clint’s got some serious mommy vibes going on. Bruce, this is Bucky.”

“Steve’s friend Bucky?” Bruce asks.

So Steve and Bruce have met then. Bucky knows Steve’s been at Tony’s a few times but he didn’t know it was ‘getting introduced to the neighbor’s’ serious.

“And Clint’s friend Bucky,” Clint calls from the sofa. “I’m calling dibs.”

“I’m not surprised,” Bruce says, as he crosses to the couch. He looks at Gracie in Clint’s arms and offers the baby his finger to grip. “You’re a natural at this,” he tells Clint.

Bucky sees Clint’s shoulders relax a little at the encouragement. He’s glad Clint’s got friends around. People who can support him. That way if Bucky does fuck everything up, he’s not left alone.

“Mind if I take her?” Bruce asks.

Clint is quick to hand her over.

Bruce has got a bag in his hands and he pulls out a little forehead thermometer and a stethoscope and some other doctor supplies. Clint steps away to give him room and Bucky goes ahead and joins him. They don’t speak while Bruce works.

“I think she’s going to be fine,” Bruce says, after only a minute or two. “She’s got a low grade fever, but her coloring is good and her lungs sound clear. I don’t see anything wrong with her throat or her ears. I’ll write down what sort of infant tylenol you should pick up and how much to give her to bring her fever down. It comes with a dropper, and there are directions on the bottle. I’d recommend following up with her pediatrician tomorrow or the day after but I really don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

Clint lets out the breath he’s holding.

“I’ll call for a car so you don’t have to walk her home,” Tony says.

“I can run to the pharmacy,” Bucky offers. “Pick up her medicine and bring it to you so you don’t have to get her out.”

Clint nods. “You don’t mind?”

“I’ll be there in no time,” Bucky says.

They all walk downstairs together as a group, and get Clint and Gracie into a town car. As soon as they pull off, Bucky gets the list of what he needs from Bruce and heads for the nearest Walgreens. He’s not running or anything, but he’s definitely not taking his time.

Bruce’s instructions are clear, so Bucky grabs the medicine, pays, and gets to Clint’s as fast as he can. It’s not all that far, so it doesn’t seem like Clint beat him there by much. 

It’s the first time Bucky’s seen Clint’s apartment.

It’s clean, but it’s got the look of a place that wasn’t always. It has the definite feel of a bachelor pad that got frantically turned into a house fit for a kid, in a matter of days. There are still boxes for all sorts of bouncy seats and stroller parts and play pens. The boxes are stacked neatly by the door, clearly meant for recycling, but they’re still there because how is Clint supposed to get all that mess out the door when he’s carrying a kid? Bucky’s so fucking impressed Clint is doing this on his own.

Between the two of them they open the medicine, read the instructions four times, and then give Gracie the thick purple goop that’s supposed to make her feel better. She’s sweaty and fussy and Clint’s holding her the whole time because every time he tries to put her down on the blanket on the floor, she starts to shriek. 

Bucky’s not great with loud sounds, and this one gets his heart racing. Not because he senses any danger but because it’s pitiful and he wants to help but there’s nothing he can do. Clint picks her back up again and stays on the floor. He leans back against the couch and kisses the top of her head over and over. Gracie calms pretty quickly after that.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” Clint says, after a couple of minutes. “So I’m either going to have to put her down and let her cry, or you can-- I mean no pressure. But if you want to try and hold her you can?”

“I can try,” Bucky says. “She’s probably gonna scream either way, though. I’m not-- I’ve never held a baby-- Not even before the....”

“It’s fine,” Clint says. “If you don’t mind. Otherwise, the floor’s okay, too. It’s only for a minute.”

“Let me try,” Bucky says.

He sits down next to Clint, and waits for Clint to lay Gracie against his chest. She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t seem fussed at all. She just curls up like a hot little bean against him, with her knees tucked up under her and her arms pulled in close. Bucky supports her with his arm under her rear, but he hardly needs it there. She just sort of naturally fits. 

Her fuzzy little head wedges right under his chin, and her hair is every bit as soft as Bucky had thought. Now he totally understands why Clint’s always tipping his face down to kiss the top of her head. Even all sweaty and sick, she smells like baby powder and soap and if he didn’t think it’d be inappropriate as hell, he’d kiss her sweet little noggin himself.

All of it together-- how weightless she is, how warm she is, how she cuddles to him like there isn’t a broken thing about him-- it just yanks at Bucky’s heart.

He doesn’t even realize that Clint’s staring until a few seconds pass and Clint still hasn’t headed for the bathroom.

“Am I doing okay?” Bucky asks.

Clint nods. “Yeah. You’ve got it.”

Clint disappears and Gracie squirms a little, but she never makes a peep and she doesn’t wake up. When Clint walks back in, he’s still got a hard-to-read look on his face.

“Mind holding her for another minute while I make her bottle? She’s going to be hungry when she wakes up.”

“Go ahead,” Bucky says. 

Now that Gracie’s settled he really doesn’t know what he thought was so scary. Another arm would help but it isn’t like she’s going anywhere. He has her. She’s safe.

Bucky listens as Clint puts together a bottle and when Clint returns he sits back down on the floor next to the two of them. Clint lifts her carefully off Bucky and settles her against his own chest.

Gracie wakes up a few minutes later and Clint was right-- she’s hungry. She also seems to have cooled down a little from before. When she’s done drinking, Clint burps her (which is not anything Bucky thought happened outside of movies) and then Clint takes her to her bedroom to put her there and let her rest. When he comes back he looks wiped.

“You should get some sleep,” Bucky says. “If you need anything I can run out and get it, and if you don’t I’ll let you be. I’ll keep my phone on though. You need anything at all, I’m on call. I’ll be here so fast you won’t know I was gone.”

“I can’t do this,” Clint says, without any warning or any... anything. The words just seem to tumble out, and he looks really distressed after he says them.

“No, you’re doing great,” Bucky says. “Like Bruce said-- you’re a natural.”

“No. No, I mean-- this. Us.”

Bucky feels like he’s been punched.

“We’re five dates in and I’m just... I’m already in so deep. I like you _so_ much it scares me. And if-- if this isn’t-- if this is all too much, I need to know now. And that’s unfair and I feel like a complete ass putting you on the spot and I’m not asking for any promises or guarantees or-- I mean I know sometimes shit doesn’t work out. But if this isn’t real for you. If it isn’t as real for you as it is for me... we’ve got to stop. I just-- I can’t be casual with you. I look at you and I see a future and that’s just... it’s saddling you with a baby and I’m a screw-up and you could do so much better and--”

“Clint, slow down,” Bucky urges.

It’s not often that it’s someone else having the breakdown. Bucky’s had more than a few aimed straight at Steve lately, so he gets this. Clint’s tired, and worried, and Bucky knows he doesn’t sleep great on the best of nights and he’s only been a dad for a month now. Something’s got to give.

“I’m sorry,” Clint rambles. “Wasn’t fair. God, don’t hate me. Please. I didn’t--”

“Deep breath,” Bucky says, stepping closer and putting his hand on Clint’s arm. “Just breath, sweetheart. Come on. I’m not going anywhere. We’re gonna talk about this, okay? I’ve got you.”

Bucky guides Clint to the sofa and sits him down. 

“You can go,” Clint says weakly. “You don’t need to see this.”

“I’m about to tell you I’m in it for the long haul, so don’t be sendin’ me off just yet,” Bucky says. “I wanna give you a minute though. You stay here. I’m going to get you some water.”

Clint nods, and Bucky stands, pours Clint a glass of cold water, and hands it to him as he sits down. He waits for Clint to take a couple of slow sips before he speaks.

“It’s late and you’ve got a lot going on, so I’m not going to hold you to anything we say tonight if you change your mind. But for what it’s worth... I’m in this, Clint. For you. For Gracie. For all of it, if you’ll have me.”

Clint freezes. Apparently he really was expecting Bucky to run.

“You’re right,” Bucky continues. “Sometimes shit goes south and you never see it coming. But that night at the bar... I didn’t see the good that was coming my way either. All I saw was loneliness. Pity. A long-term relationship with my hand. And then bam. I meet the guy of my dreams and I’m done for. Just like that.”

Clint listens, and he doesn’t say anything right away. Seconds pass, and Bucky’s starting to worry that he got it all wrong, and then there’s Clint and Clint’s kissing him. Desperate. Hot. Needy. And Bucky knows there’s so much that could go wrong with this, but he doesn’t have the self-control to stop them. They make out so hot and heavy, Jesus, Bucky’s about five seconds from getting off in his jeans, when Gracie gives a soft cry.

“Ahhhhfuckno,” Clint whisper hisses. His voice changes tone entirely though as he calls in “Just a second, Gracie. Daddy’s coming.”

Bucky giggles at that. He can’t help it. He’s an awful person, but you just should not yell “Daddy’s coming” at a kid after what they’ve been doing. Clint laughs too as he climbs off Bucky and gives him a swat to the back of the head.

“Get your brain out of the gutter there, Barnes.”

“If I haven’t yet, don’t know if it’s ever going to happen.”

“Guess we’ve got a long time to find out, huh?” Clint says.

Clint takes a few seconds, standing there fanning himself, waiting to be in a little better condition for going and picking up Gracie and Bucky can’t help but stare. Can’t help but marvel at how this is his. All of it. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “All the time in the world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as always, you can find me on Tumblr at [here](http://orbingarrow.tumblr.com) where I post lots of drabbles about Stony, Winterhawk, and Tony and Peter being friends. Plus other stuff. And lots of gifs. I always refollow and a few times a month I offer to fill prompts, if that's your scene.
> 
> Thanks for reading! <3
> 
> Arrow


	5. Super Secret Touch-Starved Brainwashed Assassins Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buck and Clint are both touch-starved so once they find each other, they don't want to let go.

Bucky is an Avenger for nearly a full month before any of the Avengers realize it. That’s fine. It’s easier that way. Bucky’s not sure if he intends for them to ever know but one night he’s up on a tall building and he has eyes on the team, and three big men burst out onto the Avenger’s sniper’s roof, and Bucky acts automatically.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Three men dead. The Avenger’s sniper is fine.

Bucky goes back to watching the action below. The sniper does not. The sniper looks instead at the surrounding buildings until he spots Bucky. Bucky who wants to keep his concentration on the action below since now their sniper is otherwise occupied.

Bucky steps more clearly into the light, and then rather pointedly gestures to what’s going on down on the street. _Pay attention._

The sniper makes an exasperated hand gesture and then gives what Bucky interprets to be a Fuck You wave.

Yeah, well fuck you too, buddy. Bucky’s got a job to do.

*

Bucky’s pretty sure there was a time when he wasn’t big on stealing. It’s sort of a niggling unhappiness in the back of his brain. But whoever Bucky was in the before time is a far cry from who he is now in the after, and this Bucky needs to eat.

So he pickpockets.

He’s surprisingly good at it. He doesn’t remember learning the skill, he just knows that he can be walking down a street, get a sixth sense for whether or not a guy’s got cash in his wallet, and if he spots someone he’s pretty sure does, a minute later the wallet is in his hands. 

He generally digs out the cash then dumps the rest in a nearby trashcan. That’s the first place the police are gonna look, and it keeps any other trouble makers from picking it up and keeping it for good. He wants the people to get their credit cards and identification back at least.

Identification is important.

Bucky tries to be thrifty so he doesn’t have to steal often. He doesn’t like the feeling in his brain. It’s sort of itchy and kind of orange.

He’s pretty sure brains aren’t supposed to work that way, but he’s only got the one, and the internet is not a lot of help when you google things like “Why does my brain itch and I see orange?”

The answer is always cancer.

*

Bucky really hates the cold. He gets himself a coat, and gloves, and a scarf he nicks off the back of a chair in a restaurant, and as long as he’s not out for too long it’s not terrible. But nights like this, when he’s waiting on a roof, and it’s windy and all the intel he’s gathered says Steve ought to be down below but Steve is not down below, are awful.

He can’t leave. The Avengers have their sniper (they call him Hawkeye) and that sniper is good, but Hawkeye can’t protect them all and Captain Steve Rogers is in dire need of protecting.

Thoughts of Steve Rogers are colored gold. Gold like old, faded photographs. 

Bucky stamps his feet because his toes have gone numb, and that’s when an arrow whizzes past his head. Bucky’s tempted to just shoot the idiot who shot at him first but Bucky knows Hawkeye doesn’t miss shots like this. Since the arrow hit the big wooden pole behind Bucky, that means Hawkeye was aiming for the big, wooden pole.

Bucky spots Hawkeye and the guy is not being subtle at all. The man waves, then points at the arrow behind Bucky impatiently. Bucky doesn’t want to turn his back on him, so he lifts his gun, aims it at Hawkeye and then takes a few steps back. 

He can see now there’s a scrap of paper taped tight against the arrow with duct tape. Bucky yanks the arrow out of the wood and unfurls the note.

_Rendezvous delayed two hours. New op time 22:30:00._

As Bucky’s reading another arrow sails past him and imbeds itself in the wood, barely a foot from his head. This one reads.

_You know you’re impressed with these badass shots I’m making._

One more arrow zings by. Bucky peels off that note and also a five dollar bill.

_Go buy yourself a hot chocolate. I’m cold just looking at you._

 

*

“I could kill you,” Bucky announces, as he steps around the door enclosure, where Hawkeye is sitting under a thin, dark blanket on the roof of a neighboring building. It’s where Bucky would have chosen to set up. Blocked from the wind, blocked from view.

“Yeah, well, you’ve had a month to take the shot. Besides what am I gonna do now? Run? It’s fucking cold and you’re fucking fast. I’ll take my chances where I am, thanks.”

No one has talked to Bucky like this in as long as he can remember. It’s unnerving. 

“Beg for your life,” Bucky says experimentally. He raises his gun. Takes aim.

Hawkeye laughs. _Laughs_. That’s not what’s supposed to happen.

“This ain’t my first rodeo, killer,” Hawkeye says. ”You want me to beg you’re gonna have to do something a little more exciting than take aim.”

Bucky waits for a few seconds and then clicks off the safety.

“Your hot chocolate’s getting cold,” Hawkeye adds. “I’m Clint, by the way. Figure we oughtta be on a first name basis if you’re gonna murder me in cold blood after I was _super fucking nice_ and gave you my cocoa money.” 

Bucky glances down at the cup in his metal hand and Hawkeye is right. It’s no longer steaming. He flicks the safety back into place and lowers the gun.

“You’re weird,” Bucky says.

“So’s your face,” Clint retorts. “But I wasn’t gonna say anything because I wasn’t gonna make this personal.”

For a second Bucky wonders what’s wrong with his face until he registers Hawkeye’s smirk. It’s a joke. Bucky’s face is fine. Probably.

“You got a name?” Clint asks. It sounds like a test.

“Bucky,” Bucky replies. It doesn’t always feel like his name, but Hydra took his name from him once, and he has jealously taken it back. It’s a giant Fuck You in their direction every time he uses it. He likes that feeling. It’s navy blue.

Clint looks pleased. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Bucky. You wanna take a seat? I’m kinda trying to keep a low profile here. On a mission and all.”

Bucky has been careful to stick to the shadows. No one would have seen him unless they were looking. Still, Clint is right and caution is necessary. Bucky drops into a crouch.

“You want under the blanket?” Clint asks. “I get it if you’re not the touchy-feely type but I’d have to be a dick not to ask.”

The blanket isn’t that tempting, but Bucky does want to sit down next to Clint. It’s something he doesn’t understand about himself... this compulsion to want touch. He craves it. Wishes for it. Watches the easy way other people interact in restaurants and on the street... the way they’re gentle with each. Comfortable. And it feels like sky blue longing. 

No one has offered this before. Even the prostitutes who call out offers to other men don’t shout in his direction. They can sense that he’s trouble. Terrifying. Most people, when he gets close, edge away. All people, really. Every time.

Bucky shuffles forward on his knees, careful to keep his cup steady. Clint lifts the blanket so Bucky can join him. Bucky’s not sure what the blanket is made of, or if Clint is packing hot water bottles under his gear, but it is toasty warm in there. He scoots closer.

“Not worried about touchy-feel stuff then,” Clint says. 

Bucky has a knack for picking up on bad intentions. He’s had a lot of experience with those. Clint seems like the opposite of that. So why can’t he enjoy it?

“You’re warm,” Bucky says, by way of explanation.

“So are you,” Clint says. “Remind me to invite you over the next time my heat goes out. Have you tried your hot chocolate yet?”

“No.” Bucky keeps forgetting he’s got it. He sniffs the cup.

Bucky takes a sip from the opening on the list of his cup and a warm, sweet liquid floods his mouth. It’s creamy and strangely comforting. His eyes close automatically as he tries to register all the new experiences at once. Soft summer green. 

“It’s good,” Bucky says, as he cracks open an eye.

“Glad you like it,” Clint says. “If you’re looking for recommendations, I know the best everything in the city. Go ahead. Try me.”

Bucky takes another sip of hot chocolate. His experience with food is somewhat limited. Even when he steals money, he tends to keep to vending machines when he can. The interactions with food service workers are awkward unless he’s been told in advance what to order.

That was what made the five dollar bill and the hot chocolate instructions so nice. Bucky wants more of that in his life.

“Make me a list,” Bucky says. “Of places. And what to order. I’ll see if you’re full of shit or not.”

Clint laughs. It’s a nice sound.

“I can do that,” Clint says. “I can even go with you if you’d let me.”

“That’d be...” Sky blue. But that’s not a word he can use. People don’t understand colors. “Good.”

*

They arrange dinner for the following Thursday. Bucky steals better clothes. He’s not sure why, but something tells him it’s important to look nice. He doesn’t want Clint to look at him the way people on the street look at him.

He showers. Uses all the little bottles in the hotel, and he’s early to their meeting place. Clint’s early, too.

“Come early to scope the angles?” Clint guesses.

“I always do,” Bucky says.

“Man, it’s so cool to talk with someone who doesn’t think I’m a total nerd for that,” Clint enthuses.

It floods Bucky with a new sort of warmth.

“It’s smart,” Bucky says. “Keeping an eye on things. I’m glad you’re good at that. The Avengers need you.”

“Yeahhhhh,” Clint says. “I do alright. Think you noticed we could use a second pair of eyes though. Or else you wouldn’t be around so much.”

“I wasn’t sure you noticed.”

Clint smiles. “I wasn’t sure it wouldn’t scare you off if I did.”

Clint leads the way to a shop located about halfway down the street. It’s small and well-lit, and the woman behind the counter is old, and wrinkled and fancy. She’s wearing a bright blue shirt and lots of jewelry. She greets Clint with a happy kind of enthusiasm that Bucky mistakes for family.

“Is she your mother?” Bucky asks.

The woman’s face lights up.

“You speak Slovak?” Clint asks.

“Why? Did I?” Bucky asks.

“Still are,” Clint points out.

Bucky pauses. He hadn’t realized. Must be a malfunction. He’s used to switching to whatever language he hears, and the woman had spoken to Clint in Not English and Bucky’s brain went to it automatically.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says softly. In English.

“No, it’s great,” Clint says. “Now we’re for sure going to get free dessert.”

They do. Maria (the woman, she’s kind. She’s kinder than anyone Bucky can remember) insists on loading them plate upon plate of her food, wanting them to try it. Wanting to talk to them about Slovakia and how she got to New York and about her children and grandchildren. It’s all in Slovak, which Bucky realizes he speaks far better than Clint. But Clint tries and Maria looks so pleased at his every word Bucky understands why Clint tries.

The whole night is blue and green and there’s no white or black in it at all. Especially no red. He’s sad to leave, even with a large paper bag of leftovers pressed into his hands.

“Wanna walk around for a while?” Clint asks.

“Yes,” Bucky agrees. He does. He doesn’t want to go back to his hotel room alone. He doesn’t like being alone. Likes it less when presented with an alternative like more time with Clint.

Bucky doesn’t say much, which is fine, because Clint fills in the silence around them. He talks about the Avengers, and his dog, and a lot of names Bucky doesn’t recognize. They walk close, until the chill of the night gets to be too much.

“Ugh, I’m shivering,” Clint complains. “I guess-- I mean, I know this is when normal people call it a night on a first date, but fuck normal, you know? You want to come up to my place?”

Bucky’s brain sticks on the part where he’s been on a date. He knows what that means. He’s actually got memories of other dates, old dates, dates from too long ago, with women who are a fuzzy blur of curls and lipstick and smiles. This hadn’t been like that but it had been nice.

Bucky nods. “I’d like that.”

Clint’s apartment isn’t far and it isn’t tidy but it smells like Clint and also pizza.

“Sorry you won’t get to meet Lucky. Kate’s dogsitting since I wasn’t sure what time I’d get back and he gets antsy if I’m gone too long. You want a beer?”

“Yes. If you have extra.”

Clint smiles at that. He sits down on the couch and Bucky sits, too. This time Bucky keeps distance between them. Careful, painful distance.

“You don’t have to sit on the edge of that cushion unless you want to,” Clint says. “I’m not weirded out by proximity. I guess I just spent a lot of time on my own, you know? And now I feel like I want to make up for it.”

Bucky nods. Conversation is a lot easier when the person seems to understand you without having to talk. Bucky scoots closer. Clint turns on the TV. Bucky shifts enough that their arms touch. Clint closes the space between them. By the time the show ends they’re done with their beer and they’re kind of tangled up together, arms, and legs and warmth.

“You want to stay?” Clint asks. “Here, tonight. I’m not trying to get in your pants or anything. This is just nice.”

“I’ll stay,” Bucky agrees.

Clint goes to get Bucky a t-shirt and some sweatpants and then shows Bucky where the bathroom is, and then goes to clean up their beer bottles and (from the frantic sounds coming from that direction) straighten his bedroom. Bucky exits, and then sits on Clint’s bed while Clint’s in the bathroom.

Clint joins him in bed, wearing much the same as Bucky. They get under the covers without saying much, and once they’re there, and the lights out, they move closer. It’s cautious and slow and Bucky’s glad Clint can’t read thoughts so he doesn’t know exactly how pleased Bucky is by all this. How embarrassingly desperate he is for touch.

Maybe in the morning he’ll ask to stay another day. Maybe in the morning he’ll tell Clint he needs help. Would like help. Could use help.

But for now, he’s content to fall asleep wrapped up with Clint like a pretzel and let his thoughts fade into a soft cocoon of purple.

Bucky’s never given purple much thought, really, but he decides it might be the best color of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sort of randomly write these WinterHawk things when I'm down, or stuck on something else. So if you have a prompt idea come find me at [OrbingArrow on Tumblr](http://orbingarrow.tumblr.com) and you might see it written!


End file.
